


Last Chance

by malignantParadigm



Series: Marked [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Death References, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pain, Rape Fantasy, Scars, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Size Difference, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Voyeurism, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malignantParadigm/pseuds/malignantParadigm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sweeps following the events of Lucky Day, a promise is made, a plan is set into motion and all hope is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also, the lovely GnaCat did some amazing artwork. shower her with love.
> 
> http://s428.beta.photobucket.com/user/Nyankochi_Miaou/media/Luckyday1_zpsca0110de.jpg.html?sort=3&o=0

Gamzee's bare feet were quiet on the floor of the steel hallway, he stalked as carefully as he could, but still couldn’t shake the on-edge feeling, the fear that any moment he'd hear that voice again or feel a giant hand grab him from the back of his neck. He knew it was too early for Amalthea to be awake, it was close to three in the afternoon, no hard working troll worth his meat would be wasting the few hours of sleep a day where the nightmares came the fewest and the farthest between. Though Gamzee had no illusions about his own worth, the only thing worth anything left in his life was at the end of this hallway, behind an ugly-ass metal door.

It had taken almost a perigee before he'd found out Tavros had survived his operation and had his legs replaced, longer still before he'd been able to see them with his own eyes, but the circumstances under which he got to see Tavros were usually so foul they weren't worth remembering. Especially not now, not in these few, fragile motherfucking minutes where he actually managed to sneak out of his block and speak with his bro on his own terms, with his own voice. A half a foot of steel didn't feel like no thing compared to what was usually between them when they saw each other; one mean motherfucker of an ancestor and a whole world of hurt.

Approaching the door, he slid up beside it and and knocked gently three times before kneeling on the ground to get closer to the slot at the base of the door where plates of food were sometimes passed through to the prisoners on the other side. It was a few minutes before he heard some shifting that meant someone was nearby on the other side.

"Hello?" It was Tavros's voice. Logically, it wouldn't be anyone but Gamzee at this hour, the hour he always visited Tavros, but just in case he'd been discovered, Tavros always answered as if he was confused at who could be calling this late in the day.

"It's me, brother." Gamzee spoke low, quiet. He had trained the voices more and more over the last sweep, he could control the volume of his words easier these days, which was a blessing, considering all the sneaking around he did. There was a pause and more shifting, then Tavros' voice came much clearer, he must've sat down too.

"I thought you might not come, today." His voice sounded scratchy, noticeably deeper than it was when they were fresh off Alternia.

"Why not? I come every half perigree I can, Tav, I ain’t missed one once."

"I think maybe, you should start."

"Start what?"

"Missing some."

Gamzee frowned.

"Did I fuck up again? If I did you can tell me, I ain’t above admitting when I've-"

"No, you didn't, do anything. But, it's not safe. He's going to catch you, and soon."

"He ain’t no omnipotent, hear all, see all, fuck all motherfucker alright? He's a powerful piece of SHIT." Gamzee's voice rose for a second, and he looked behind him before he resumed, a little quieter. "But even shit gotta sleep sometimes."

"I still think, you underestimate him..."

"Look, motherfucker, can we not talk about that fucker right now? Every fucking conversation...he already runs the whole rest of our lives, you know?"

"Yes, Gamzee. I do know that, actually." Tavros's voice darkened and Gamzee flinched.

"Right..."

There was an awkward pause before Tavros's voice sounded again, softer this time.

"How's your training going? You were taller the last time I, uh, saw you..."

“The old fuck keeps me working, that's the motherfucking truth.” He rolled his shoulder, still feeling pains in his joints . “I'll bet he thinks if he lets me slack any I'll start thinking, figuring ways out of this hole in the sky. You know what they say about idle hands and shit.”

“No, what do they say?”

Gamzee paused. “I...don't know. I guess they ain’t said a thing about idle hands, now that I think after it. Shit, I don't even know who 'they' are...”

“Gamzee.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm thinking about maybe, ending it.”

Gamzee's eyes widened and he slid himself down low in a hurry, trying to see through the slot in the door, he could see metal kneecaps and Tavros's scarred hand for a second before it moved out of view.

“Tav, no. You can't okay? We talked about it, and it ain't in you!That's what you said right?” He couldn’t help the manic edge from seeping into his voice. “It ain't what you're ABOUT, all leaving me and your ancestor alone with that FUCKSTACK.”

“Gamzee, quiet! He'll hear you-”

“Tell me you're not going to kill your own motherfucking self, brother.” Gamzee spoke slowly. There was a long minute of silence where he didn't let himself breathe.

“...It's been two sweeps, Gamzee. I can't even remember what Tinkerbull smelled like. I forget what the wind felt like on my face, I-”

“Tell me it, tell me all what it's like. I can help you.” Gamzee said with sentiment so genuine that it felt old and raw in his chest, like a bumped bruise. He blushed. “Or ...get pale with your brown brother in there, just-”

“No, it's okay. I want to talk to you.”

Gamzee felt wingcritters flap about in his pump cavity, but pushed them down. He wasn't red with Tavros, he wasn't anything with Tavros. Too bad Tavros was everything to him, too bad and too damn irrelevant.

“Then get talking.” Gamzee replied, hearing a sigh soft behind the door. He got in a more comfy position on the floor, arms crossed under his chin.

“I don't want to die but, I can't live like this, not the whole rest of my life.”

“You wont, I said I'll get you out and it was a meant thing. You just got to hold on.”

“I can't sleep, when I do sleep all I have are nightmares. He doesn't give us sopor...”

Gamzee shut his eyes and bit at his arm. 

“...and...I'm just, I'm in pain. All the time, everything hurts and I'm starting...starting to...”

He faded out. Gamzee reached his fingers through the slot, palm up and when warm digits met his, he squeezed tight.

“...I'm starting to hate myself. I've never done that, before. I mean, I never had much confidence, but, I never thought I deserved, the things, that happened to me.”

“You don't.”

“But, I-”

“Tavros, you motherfucking listen to me right now.” Gamzee felt the hair-spikes at the back of his neck stand on point. He tried not to squeeze Tavros's hand too hard as he whispered furiously. “You do not, and I mean that as much as I ever meant a thing in all my sweeps, you do NOT deserve what he does by you. You deserve the universe, motherfucker, and all the good it got to offer, if there's any left. And I'm gonna get it for you.”

“I want to believe that, but, I don't.”

“That's okay. I'll believe it for the both of us.” He patted Tav's hand beneath the door, stroking his thumb with his own. “I've got a plan. Just hold on and don't do nothin' we'll regret.”

Gamzee heard some muttering on the other side but couldn’t make it out it was so quiet, then suddenly Tavros's hand had pulled away.

“You should probably, go.”

“Promise me first, brother. Promise me you'll hold on.”

There was a silence so long and dark Gamzee started to listen to the voices again just for something to DROWN IT OUT. He couldn't do this without Tavros. Still, he knew the shit Tavros went through was beyond any suffering he'd wish on even his worst motherfucking enemy, it wasn't like he could blame him if he cracked. That wouldn't be on Tavros though, that'd be his own failing, his own motherfucking fault. He'd been the one to carry Tavros into this hell like a dumbshit deadpanned idiot. He had be the one to get him out. 

Because if he didn't...well it didn't matter what kind of years he had left by virtue of his blood, If Tavros decided to check out early, Gamzee would just have to pack his bags and tag along.

There was the sound of delicate mechanisms working as Tavros stood. 

“...Alright, I promise.”

Gamzee stood too, he put his hand against the metal in front of him and imagined he could feel Tavros' warmth radiating from it.

“I ain't giving up on you, bro.”

“I'll talk to you later, Gamzee.” There was something clipped and stiff in his voice.

“...Yeah, okay. I'll go. Say hi to-”

“Yeah, I will.”

“A'ight then...uh. Bye.” Feeling confused and alone Gamzee drew back from the door, irrationally keeping on eye on it, as if there were a chance it would open, until he'd turned the first corner to the hallway leading back to his block.

Tavros sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, feeling little scars everywhere.

“I know you're awake.” He said suddenly.

-

Rufio shifted on the sleeping platform, wincing as the dull ache that curled around behind his organs and along his spine gave a throb in protest at moving. It had only been a few sleep cycles since the Highblood had last used him, gently, goddamn gently, dropping him on the ground when he had been to exhausted to walk himself, his legs limp and rubbery.

He probably would have just kept on lying there, claw marks bleeding and gasping as he tried to get his breathing under control, and willing his bulge to retreat back inside already, the Highblood hadn't taken care to undo him. If Tavros hadn't been there to grab him under the arms and drag him to the ablutions chamber, he would have just lain there until a food dish was shoved into his side. It had brought him back to himself, back to the world. 

Tavros caught on quickly to what he needed, like... like a devoted moirail should. That was what they were now, after all. It sent a warm feeling to his chest, to know that he was no longer alone, as much as it filled him with self-disgust at his own feelings. Tavros, should not have been brought here, should not have had to suffer.

The two sweeps that he had spent here had not been kind to him. The wriggler fat that had clung to his cheeks was gone, drained away leaving a leaner face, more square than his own. It reminded him more of The Highblood's jaw, wide and thick. He had been hoping that Tavros had been from a coupling with Mindfang, but the more time went, the more he thought less of that. 

Tavros had grown taller, his new legs had to be replaced and adjusted every few perigrees, he was now almost up to Rufio's own height. There was no telling how much taller Tavros would have gotten had he retained his flesh and bone legs. The metal ones the Highblood had commissioned for him were stunning to behold. Lean and made more for style than function. The only thing ugly about them was the Capricorn sign in indigo that had been woven into their design. 

Surprisingly, he had retained most of his muscle, even with the minimal amount of food they were given. There was not much to do when the Highblood wasn't with them. Tavros had taken to doing pushups after he had taught him how, and other workouts that one could do with just themselves in a tiny, barren block. Even if he had let his muscles wither, his frame had only shown signs of growing and he would have still been wider than him. He desperately tried not thinking about the comparisons and how Mindfang had been small shouldered, even for a woman.

There was only one thing that hadn't grown, and that was Tavros' wings. There hadn't been any sign of them coming in. No bumps or movement of muscle groups on his back or even the beginnings of new groups. He didn't know whether to be relieved that they weren't going to form, only to be torn out or mutilated, or despairing at the thought that Tavros would never taste the joy of flying. 

It was for the best, he always told himself, every time he did his physical checks on Tavros' back.

He shifted again, trying to find the position that brought him the least pain. Experience taught him it was having his body mostly on its side, with his boney knees brought up slightly and his spine curved outwards. He couldn't lay his head down on its side, it would mean having to lean on his horns. They were numb, mostly, but he would be putting pressure on his skull if he did so and that would be uncomfortable. 

His back was to the doorway, and he could not see what Tavros was doing, but judging from the scraping sound, he was using what small nails he had to scrape at the ground in an attempt to make pictures, sitting underneath the table.

He shifted his knees a bit higher and the pain lessened slightly, then he heard the three knocks

His descendant hurried to the door, crouching by it, the gears and metal scraping and groaning. He didn't have to be facing the door to recognize who would be on the other side, or strain his ears for the voices. It was the Highblood's spawn, the youth Gamzee.

He grit his teeth and fisted a hand as he thought about Gamzee. He tried to warn Tavros repeatedly against the youth, ever since he had first knocked on their door. Tavros was young and thought he actually cared. He may have acted like he cared, but he was a highblood through and through. They all eventually showed their roots and their utter disregard for those deemed lower. It led to plenty of fights between them, ones where they wouldn't speak for hours.

When Gamzee came around, he tried to give Tavros some kind of privacy. It had been one of the reasons he had started to sleep with his back to the doorway, as much as it made him uncomfortable. He tried not to listen to their conversations. He played at being asleep.

The room was small enough that he couldn't outright ignore what his descendant was saying. It was mostly the same. The highblood talking about his own life, his ancestor, as much as he tried to avoid the topic, then...

He felt his blood pusher freeze when Tavros talked about, 'ending it'. It made his blood run cold and his breath catch and die in his throat.

Tavros, wanted to die. He didn't blame him, even he wanted to die. He lost track of the ways he had tried, often desperately, to rid himself of existence. He hadn't tried since Tavros had arrived, even stopped thinking about it, focusing more on ways to get him out.

Tavros... Tavros had never tried though, never even mentioned wanting to when they jammed. He had the means to do so, theoretically. The Highblood had let him keep his claws and teeth.

Tavros could chew through his wrists. Could drive his hands through his neck or stomach, or into his eyes and brain. But, from what he knew of Tavros, what he had grown to know about him, was that it wasn't in him. 

Tavros was not a being of violence, often shying away from threats and going meek. He wouldn't have it in him to take his own life. 

Would he ask for help?

No, he wouldn't, that was not in his nature either. He would have to offer. He would be able to, for all of Tavros' muscle, he was still stronger. He could snap his neck, he could strangle him to death. Then he would be alone. That thought froze him more. He, he would be alone. There would be no one to come back to. No moirail to get him back up, to get him back alive. No goal to plan towards-

There would be no hope.

“...Alright, I promise.”

Those words brought him back, and he let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The sudden expansion of his chest sent a twinge of pain through his insides and he twitched in pain, letting out a small noise of discomfort. 

He cursed himself and tried to stay still, hoping that his descendant hadn't heard him. His voice was clipped with Gamzee, and he shooed him away. He still held onto the thought that Tavros just didn't want to speak with him anymore, but then he heard him turn and speak, and knew that there was no hiding. He looked over his shoulder towards his descendant. 

“Will you kill yourself?” He asked. He offered no apologies, they would be useless. There was mild panic in his words and he felt shame in even feeling it, let alone having it enter his voice. He hoped his descendant didn't pick up on it.

“I promised him I wouldn't. So, I wont.” Tavros shrugged and wandered over to sit on the edge of the bed. “He says, he's going to rescue me, that he has a plan.”

He couldn't help the snort that came out. He didn't trust that highblood for a second. The highblood had been saying that for the last two sweeps. If Gamzee did get Tavros out, it would only be to lock him somewhere else, by himself and for himself.

He felt the bed move as Tavros sat down and he forced himself to shift, ignoring his pain so he could at least look his descendant in the face. Tavros was taller than him, when they were sitting side by side, it made him uncomfortable.

He knew it was Tavros, and his build was not anywhere near the monstrosity of the Highblood, but he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had been growing steadily as Tavros did. He moved to sit up and lean against the wall, so they were closer in height, wincing as his insides protested.

“You've tried it, right? When you were younger, but, he stopped you.” Tavros shifted, pulling his legs onto the bed and lying down flat. His horns had grown larger too in the past sweeps, almost spanning the width of the headboard. 

Rufio felt his wrists itch. 

If the skin on his wrists hadn't been worn raw countless times, there would have been different scars there. If you tore the skin and muscle away to look at his bones, you would have undoubtedly seen the tell tale marks of fangs.

“Yes. Countless times.”

He shifted, making space for Tavros. His horns took up so much room, how much longer would they grow?

He tugged at the young troll, pulling him closer so his head was touching his legs and started carding his fingers through his hair. Tavros stared at the ceiling, contemplatively.

“Do you think he'd stop me, too?”

“He would.” Rufio said, scared hands carefully going through his hair. It was getting longer, almost to his chin. His voice came out calmer than he thought it would. He didn't feel the need to add more. It was unsaid that the Highblood never let anyone go unless he himself grew bored of them. His, enjoyment, of Tavros didn't seem to be lessening any...

Tavros closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the dull fingers running across his scalp, tugging gently at his hair. There were nights where the two of them would do nothing but sit like this, Rufio would pet his hair or rub his aching muscles. Sometimes he would tell stories, of both history and fiction, other times it was too painful to speak and the only sounds were the soft sighs of their pale interactions.

Tavros was a different person than he used to be. Gamzee never seemed to change except in physical ways that frightened him more each time they met face to face. Rufio was still as broken as he ever was, his inner fire a pilot light that refused to die. But Tavros...

He felt so far from the stuttering innocent he used to be, practicing his lancing and dreaming of fights with pirates in a world of magic, that he wouldn't recognize that person if you sat him right down in front of him.

He no longer blushed, or balked. He rarely smiled. He didn't fight.

But he could still feel.

He reached above his head and grabbed Rufio's hand in his, bringing it down to his lips to kiss the scars on his wrist. Then he clutched it to his chest.

“Are you still sore?” He asked.

Rufio soaked in the pale warmth that emanated from his descendant. Tavros took as much reassurance as he did from these actions. He liked spending moments like this. It was one of the easiest ways to pass the time.

His hand froze when Taros grabbed it, bringing it to his mouth, kissing and asking. He shifted, testing himself out. He was sore, but, it wouldn't do him any more harm to...

“Not much.” He gripped Tavros' hand in his lightly.

Tavros sat up slowly and turned to face Rufio, shifting forward until he was almost in the others lap. He put his hands flat against the wiry chest in front of him. They locked eyes for a second before Tavros leaned forward and kissed the side of Rufio's neck, just below his jaw line.

“Lie down.” He whispered.

There was a need in those brown eyes, so similar and different than his own, not a physical need, but something else, something less tangible.

Rufio lifted his head back, baring his throat to Tavros, shivering at his breath. It was at times like this, where the lined blurred, and he saw Mindfang. She would do something so much similar, but with more teeth. It sent a shiver down his spine and he pushed those thoughts away.

Tavros needed him here, not in the past. The little spark that was always there telling him to fight, even when he had no need to. He squashed it down like all the times before when Tavros... did this.

He needed this, and it was something he could give him. He followed his directions and allowed himself to be guided down onto his back, there were no wings to be careful of, they had been pulled out god knows how long ago, and would take perigrees to grow back. His arms hung limply at his sides, not moving unless Tavros directed it.

With a sigh Tavros lowered himself onto Rufio kissing him gently, open mouthed. He couldn't stay like that for long, his horns weighed him down, but he waited until Rufio kissed back before pulling away and sitting on top of him.

His eyes didn't leave Rufio's as he undid his loincloth and pulled it away, letting it drop beside them. Tavros himself didn't wear clothes, of any kind, other than the metal collar around his neck and ones shackled on his wrists. With his metal lower half, the Highblood hadn't thought them necessary, he guessed.

He'd thought a few other things were necessary though.

With a practiced move, Tavros undid a latch on his groin and his bulge slipped neatly out of him. It was a shiny metal alloy, completely silver, yet didn't seem to have any catches or ridges at all. It must have cost a fortune to design, he'd often thought. What a stupid waste. Still, it felt smooth as serpent beast skin in his hands and it made him feel...something. Whatever they had done to him on that operating slab, It had given him back some of the feeling he'd lost as a wriggler. Enough to make his breath catch if he touched himself just right. He let his shoulders drop slightly and relax. Once he had, he reached for Rufio's again and guided their joined hands back to his artificial bulge.

“Touch me.”

Tavros' kisses always burned him. So soft and gentle, they made him go back to the times he was with Mindfang, in her cabin, tearing at eachother's clothing and sharing breathless kisses and happy nips. He became lost in memory every time, taking a second to respond. They never lasted long though, and Tavros would retreat the second he started to reciprocate, he let out a chur at the loss without meaning to. When he moved away, his eyes found Tavros' again.

He didn't drop his gaze as he rid him of his 'clothing', shifting his hips to allow the thin cloth to be stripped from under him. Tavros' gaze was intense, piercing and commanding, much like Mindfangs' had been, so far from the mad, consuming looks the Highblood gave. It made his chest tighten. 

He only looked down when he heard a click of a latch. He watched as his descendant's shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out as his metallic bulge slid out. Tavros' 'bulge' was something he could never get used to, despite how many times they had been together. It was long and wide, wider than his own. Shiny and smooth, smoother than a bulge should be and unrelenting inside when a normal bulge would have some give. He couldn't decide if it was better or worse being fucked by that, or being fucked by the Highblood. He didn't know how it even worked, or if it even mattered if Taros was aroused. IT always seemed to be ready.

His hand was limp when Tavros reached for it, and guided it to himself. He followed the orders without question, grasping it more tightly than he would have on a normal bulge. Tavros didn't have much feeling in it, but he knew how to hold it, how to stroke and grip to make him feel good.

He let his fingers trail up the side and dug his thumb into its 'base', where it would retract into itself when put away. He looked back up at Tavros, to watch him, hoping the subtle pheromones his descendant was putting out would start working on him soon.

Tavros keened and leaned backward, closing his eyes. Letting himself feel that something, that moment of peace and control he only felt when he'd given an order and had it followed. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Rufio was staring at him, still sheathed and unaroused, eyes focused but unreadable.

He detached Rufio's hand and grasped both of them in his own, holding them over Rufio's head.

“Why are you looking at me, like that?” He ground his hips downward until he felt something move in response. 

“I'm sorry I said, that I'd kill myself, if that's it.” He looked down and watched as Rufio's bulge slithered out, just slightly alongside his own. It felt warm, the coolant that ran through his legs had lowered his body temperature slightly. He stared down at Rufio, who was still stony faced. 

“I don't see, why, you'd be mad at me. Ah!” Tavros gasped as Rufio's bulge slipped underneath his, sweeping close to the edge his synthetic nook. “You want to die, too.” He moaned.

Rufio focused on how Tavros moved, how he shifted and how pleased he was at being touched and followed, tried so hard to will his bulge to come out. Tavros' legs dug into his hips, not exactly sharp, but heavy and cold, so cold. It made it harder for him to stay in the present. Mindfang had been so close to this coolness, like the sea during the hot season. Refreshing.

He forced himself to be in the present, his descendant deserved it, but his legs and his bulge were so cold...

He let his arms be pinned above his head, Tavros leaned in closer, his descendant wasn't producing many pheromones, hardly anything, just like every other time. He had spent time and time again, thinking about these... acts, after the fact. About Tavros' needs.

He didn't answer his descendant, only gasping slightly as those two cool legs drove their groins together, hitting just the right pressure, something both familiar and distant. The position was so familiar, when he would piss Mindfang off, and she would get rougher with him.

He could almost hear her laugh and her disparaging remarks, playfull and pitiful.

“No, It's not- I am not angry...” He railed off into a hiss, his hips trying to buck a bit under his descendant's weight. He closed his eyes, so Tavros would not have to look at something that offended him. 

He willed his bulge back away from Tavros' false nook. He knew it would be cool in there, slick and soft. They'd never done that though, not here, not when they were alone.

Tavros switched out holding one of Rufio's wrists, and began to fist their bulges together. He started slow and got gradually harder, faster. 

“Do you want me, inside you, then?” He asked, roughly. His breath becoming harsher.

Rufio gasped, pressing his head back into the sheets, bearing his throat. His bulge twined with Mindfa-Tavros' cooler one. It made his toes curl and his legs strain. His arm stayed where Tavros had left it, gripping his other hand, blunt nails not causing any harm at all, but digging in.

He was sore on the inside, his inner muscles burning slightly, but his nook was wet... They had never entered each other during these times, but, if Tavros wanted to, he would be fine with it. It would help him separate him from her...

“It, it is your choice.” It was the basis for their couplings, and he would not take that away from Tavros, any move made here, would be his.

Tavros stopped moving his hand, stopped moving entirely, and stared down at Rufio.

“That's not what I asked. I asked, do you want me to?”

He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips when Tavros' hand stopped, his hips bucking and his bulge twisted, trying to get more friction.

He cracked his eyes open, trying to judge his descendant's mood, trying to decide his next words. He was focused, his body tense above his. He looked, nervous. Was he fearing rejection?

He shifted underneath him again, his body twinging in pain. It made him think of the Highblood, and how their couplings ended, how even the times when Tavros was used to fuck him had always been dictated by that bastard. It had always been hard and painful and left him almost numb for hours.

“... Yes.”

Tavros nodded and bit his lip for a second before lowering himself down slowly until they were skin to skin. He kissed Rufio's collarbone and gently nudged his chin up with his forehead so he could kiss his neck.

His hands found Rufio's hips and ran down his thighs to his knees, pulling them apart slightly and sliding between them. His bulge slid neatly, obediently to the crook of Rufio's inner thigh and groin. 

“I want you to tell me, what, exactly, it is you want, from me.” Tavros said in a soft voice, speaking into the skin of Rufio's throat. “Everything. What makes you feel good, what, doesn't. Promise me?”

Rufio could not help the flinch at having his legs spread, he almost snapped them shut before reminding himself that this was Tavros, not the Highblood, and he forced himself to relax. He let his head be tipped up and shivered at Tavros' breath and lips on his neck.

He felt the others' bulge resting on his thigh, unnaturally smooth, but thankfully warmer than the Highblood's. It was familiar and he couldn't help looking around, expecting a large silhouette sitting across the room with a faygo and a grin with too many teeth.

He tried to keep the tremors out of his his body and could hardly hear Tavros speak. He swallowed, then brought his hands to Tavros' back, scarcely resting them over his shoulder blades.

He licked his lips 

“Yes.”

He tried to splay his legs a little wider, try to give his descendant more room. His hands were shaking.

Leaning forward, Tavros kissed Rufio on the mouth and the very tip of his bulge slithered inside him. Rufio was loose, and wet, and warm, but he still moved slowly, as carefully as possible. He felt Rufio tense up and brought his arms up to pap him gently on his chest, rubbing in circles until he relaxed somewhat. 

“It's just me. It's only me...” Tavros whispered, in between soft, slow kisses. “You can...you can close your eyes, if you want.”

He kissed back, matching Tavros' gentleness. He forced his muscles to relax, ignored the desire to fight and kick and bite. Sweeps worth of learned reactions were not easy to break and his fingers dug into Tavros' back. It was close, too close. He loosened them when he felt Tavros' gentle papping, small and rhythmic. Something the Highblood had never done.

He was grateful when Tavros suggested closing his eyes. The Highblood... it was one of the things he had always forbade, going as far as to use clamps and head pieces to keep them open. He focused on Tavros and his actions and his voice. It made something warm bloom in his chest and he moved his face forwards, searching for Tavros' mouth.

Tavros watched until his ancestor closed his eyes before meeting his lips and closing his own. Letting the darkness fall on him like a warm sheet. Feeling the power, the peace and even, though he'd never said the word out loud, something comparable to what he supposed love would feel like. 

Rufio concentrated on the smell of Tavros, but it was a fight to stay relaxed. Tavros' bulge had settled deep inside, stretching the sore muscles of his insides. It didn't burn, hardly at all compared to the other times he had been pailed while still recovering, but it brought him back to those times, all those times where he had screamed himself hoarse and scraped his fingertips raw. Where the pain had been greater than any pleasure he may have gotten. This was Tavros. The Highblood would not be this gentle. There would be more pain, much more, and claws and teeth. This, this was Tavros.

Tavros sighed and stilled his hips, letting his bulge move on it's own. Sliding gently in and out, rubbing soft lines and patterns on Rufio's insides. There was a predictability to it which was comforting, and so, so unlike sex as Tavros knew it to be. He groaned and opened his eyes again.

That was a mistake.

Rufio's eyes were shut, but his face was tense and not in pleasure. Jaw set, eyebrows twitching inward and lip curling as if he were trying with every inch of himself to relax, but could not.

Fuck him like I fuck him, pet.

As if he were fighting not to fight. 

Harder! make him scream for me...

In an instant Tavros had shoved off and pulled out, stumbling away from the bed. His shoulder hit the wall and he doubled over, trying not to retch.

“Oh god...I'm sorry. I'm-” Tavros tried to explain, before his digestive sack lurched again and he fell to his knees, gagging. The images in his head, the memories were suddenly fresher than reality, more visceral than the here and now.

Rufio heard the younger troll sigh above him (at least he was enjoying himself.) Then his descendant's weight disappeared, his bulge ripped out, hastily and clumsily, jerking harshly against his insides. It made him hiss and he curled into himself, away from the pain. A threatening rattle leaked its way out of his throat.

Rufio heard something hit the wall, had the Highblood come in here?

No, Tavros had thrown himself away, at the wall where he crouched and made gagging noises, punctuated by apologies, for what he did not know. He fought to calm himself down, to stop the rattling in his throat. His bulge curled in on itself on his lower stomach

“Tavros?

“I'm sorry, I'm just...” Tavros straightened up and covered his face with his hands, avoiding Rufio's eyes. “I'm a fuck-up, there's really just nothing else to say. I'm sorry, I messed everything up, just...” He looked around hopelessly, as if trying to find a place to hide, but there was nowhere.

Rufio straightened up, putting one hand on the wall to help him. His insides were sore, and burned now from the friction of Tavros' hasty retreat. The pain did not do anything to convince his bulge to go back in its sheath in the least bit.

He ignored it. “Tavros... you have not done anything wrong.”

His bloodpusher was still pounding in his chest, and he could not quite stop the instinctive rattling, it was underlying his words, making them sound harsh. He couldn't help how tense he was.

He shifted to the edge of the bed, to go to Tavros, his legs shaking under him. His legs felt like jelly from the adrenaline that still coursed through his system. He made his way painfully to his descendant's side, each step resulting in a jolt of pain, making his gait a bit bowlegged.

He gently grabbed the others wrists and pulled them away from his face. “If there was something that I did..?”

“No!” Tavros pulled his hands away and held them to his chest. His head dropped down and his sight flickered across the floor, settling anywhere besides on Rufio.

“It was a bad idea, that's all. It was dumb, I'm dumb, sorry...” He let his hands fall and spoke, much more quietly. “I thought it might, um, make it better, I guess... I don't really, know why I thought it might help. It didn't.”

He bit his lip, and brought his arms up to bring his descendant into a hug, resting his forehead on one of Tavros’ horns.

“Shhh. Its okay Tavros. I-” He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes closed and snarling silently. He should have been able to relax. It was only Tavros, only them in this place. He hadn’t hurt him, not intentionally, deliberately. He had been as slow and gentle as he could have possibly been.

He ignored the burning inside, crisscrossing like sparks in his nook. He should have been able to relax, to give Tavros what he needed.

He felt liquid running down his thighs, familiar and disgusting. He hoped it was just lubrication, and not blood. His bulge thankfully had started to retreat back somewhat, half sheathed.

Tavros pulled away and walked to the corner of the room furthest from the door.

“Forget it.” He said. He sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them. He didn't want to talk, or be comforted, mostly he just wanted to disappear. He thought of Gamzee, and for a second, hated his friend for making him promise to keep living. 

“Just, go back to sleep, Rufio. Please.”

He let his descendant move away, going to sit by the wall, practically in the corner, like he was hiding. His legs quaked and his body burned. He fisted his hands, fingers digging into his thin palms.

His descendant was trying to hide away from what was bothering him. The urge to drag his descendant out verbally spiked. His descendant was so meek. So different than he had been at his age.

It was the 'please' though, that he listened to, against his better judgment, and turned to go to the ablutions chamber, leaving a trail of brown drips as he left without a word.

~

Amalthea gave a sigh of disappointment when his Little Fly walked away instead of talking with his clone. He loved watching them interact so much. This time, after Gamzee had left, thinking he was a sneaky thing, something new had happened, that had been especially nice. He wanted to see more. Ah well…

His claws tapped away on his keyboard, the nails glinting dully in the light from the screen. He pressed a button and the figures went backwards through their actions. He patiently waited, the light throwing shadows around the dark room. He stopped it when it came to where they had started to touch each other and let it play through.

He let out a rumbling purr at their actions. He was slouched in his seat, legs spread under his desk. His bulge leisurely pumped in and out of his nook, lashing at his insides and bending in ways that stretched him, adding just that pinch of pain that made everything feel so motherfucking GOOD.

His eyes were half mast as they watched the scene play out on his screen. They still hadn’t noticed any of the hidden cameras that he had installed, even though he knew that Summoner, no... Rufio, (he hadn’t even known his real name, not until his fly’s descendant used it. What a riot.) had looked over his cage from top to bottom. It made him chuckle when he looked right into the lenses without even knowing.

He purred when Tavros let his bulge slip into his ancestor. The bluebloods on this ship had really done something miraculous with that. Their pailing wasn’t as rough as he would have liked, but that was what some of the fun was, not directing it, watching them without them knowing. Seeing them raw. It was delicious.

He had never seen his Fly willingly submit to someone before, it was an interesting change. Never in his life had he ever done something willingly for him, it was always a fight to get what he wanted. That's what made it so much motherfucking FUN. 

This though... this had only started about halfway through the first sweep. Tavros had begun turning their usual pale indulgences into these trysts. Shortly after he had broken him, stripped him of the last of his will to fight. It had been so motherfucking EASY to break the thing into such little pieces.

It didn’t scream any longer, or cry, or even resist for a second. It was so motherfucking amusing, he could laugh until his gut burst. It made him such a riot to show off and pass around. Never fought back, hardly flinched. Who else had a pet so motherfucking well trained that they didn’t need to tear out their fangs or file their claws? No one, that was motherfucking who.

He was just so different than his other pet. He thought he would have gotten bored of the little one when it finally broke and killed it, but it had only gotten more fun...

It burned his Little Fly to see his descendant submit. Oh, how it so obviously BURNED HIM. He wondered if Rufio saw himself every time Tavros diligently followed his every order. It never seemed to dull his fire, only making him snarl and spark more when his turn came around.

He rubbed his hand over his bulge, putting pressure on the base and purring rougher, watching Rufio's face as he fought not to fight and only to submit. It made his bulge pulse. Even when he wanted to relax, he never really could.

His legs tensed and shook as he came in himself, his genetic material filling up his seed sack. He groaned at the feeling deep inside, at that pleasurable stretch. He absently rubbed harder, urging more of his genetic material out. He liked feeling of that. It was pleasant. His own was never enough to create that noticeable of a bump in him, though. He would empty it out when he cleaned himself up.

Drops of indigo seeped around his retreating bulge and he scooped them up, using it to draw designs on his grey skin. Circles and his sign, the Flies'.

He looked back up at the recording. It had finished playing through and had gone back to the beginning of the hour, when Tavros was sitting, crouched by the doorway, talking to Gamzee.

Gamzee... he still saw potential there, so motherfucking much of it. It came out more and more as the sweeps passed, but every single motherfucking time the he went to visit the Fly’s descendant, he would regress, just that little motherfucking bit. It angered him, and he was getting increasingly frustrated with his descendant.

He had the drive and the focus to back up his actions. He was almost unmatched in his fighting skills and he killed and participated in revelry and brutality as much as the rest of his brethren, the other trainees. After these visits though, he would hold back. His hits would not be as bone breaking, and he would show mercy to those he should be subjugating.

He needed to do something about that. The obvious answer, would be to just get rid of the problem. Get rid of Tavros. He didn’t want to do that though, not if he could avoid it. 

He could put a stop to the visits. Lock his descendant in his respite block until the morning carnival, when his day would begin. He would probably just tear his claws bloody trying to get out. It would be funny, but it would give his descendant more time to kill. He wasn’t the sharpest thorn in the paw, but, given time and enough drive, he could potentially find a way to escape, and would be just that much more motherfucking annoying. If there was one thing Amalthea had learned in his long, long life, it was to never underestimate a highblood who has been backed into a corner. It wasn't their natural state to be caged like the rabble. 

The only other option would be to do something to drive them away from each other. His gaze drifted to the screen again, pausing it on Tavros’ face. He could do that, probably wouldn’t be all that hard, either.

If it didn’t work, well, his descendant was more important than his Fly’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we got a tumblr, if you guys want to fire any questions at us about our stories.
> 
> Malignantparadigm.tumblr.com

The church was alive with activity, bodies pressed around each other in celebration. Whoops polluted the air along with bursts of laughter as those of the circus celebrated.

High above, on tight rope and trapeze, great feats were preformed. Tight rope walking while juggling, tossing someone from hand to hand after each swing. Occasionally the person in question missed the next bar and fell, sometimes the crowd caught them and threw them back upwards, to the performing stage, other time they’d let them crash. It was a breathtaking sight. All the faces that the cultists wore had large, joyful smiles, as it motherfucking should be, on this joyous day.

The Higher ups of the church, some Bishops and Cardinals, the heads separate sects within, were sitting in their respective booths above ground level, sowing harsh merriment in their private boxes. He could see The Marcel from here, mouth closed but eyes alive and body moving, with his sect of silent, black and white Marceauldiers. It was the quietest booth in the place, but one didn’t need a voice to show merriment. 

Amalthea had abandoned his seat of honour, a large throne that was placed high above everyone in a solitary booth, in favour of wading through the raucous crowd. They gave him a bit of a wide berth, moving out of his way as he walked, calling out whoops to him and other signs of respect.

Jewellery dangled from his horns, catching what little light there was in their indigo gems. His outfit was a cacophony of purple patches and ribbons. There was no cape, this time around, but strips of detailed, stitched fabric was everywhere, each tip dyed a separate blood colour. They fluttered around him as he moved through the crowd.

Their energy was singing under his ancient skin, getting just as high from it as the crowd had from his words moments before. He loved celebrations, especially the day of Gathering. The day honouring the promised land that did not yet exist, and their mirthful messiahs. It was a day of new beginnings and destiny. A perfect time to put his plan into motion, now that he had all his pieces, after perigrees of preparation.

He looked over the crowd, easily towering over even older priests who were still no where near close to his own age, for Gamzee.

He should have been easy to spot. He was taller than any of the other trainees, the would be subjugglators who hadn’t quite made a name for themselves yet, or decided what sect of the church to follow. In rank, Gamzee was on par with several of the older members, but he generally stayed near the other trainees, towards the back. Everything was a mess however, the lines had blurred and the masses mingled in their merriment.

He wasn‘t at the back with the other trainees, so he brought his gaze around, back towards the stage, finally spotting him across the room. His back turned from him, looking towards the ring. He smiled and made his way through the sea of painted faces, laying one heavy hand on his shoulder, gripping slightly with his claws.

“There you are, Gamzee.”

Gamzee looked away from a the flickering light of a flame glutton performing his ceremonial rites, and over his shoulder. The Highblood was a mess of colour on black and indigo so bright he glowed, like a vision. His yellowing fangs seemed to stand out in the dark, a regular Cheshire purr-beast. Gamzee knew that expression, it never meant anything but bad news for him.

Since his meeting with Tavros a week before, Gamzee had been spending every spare minute scouring his brain for the making of a plan, any plan, to free Tavros like he'd promised. Trouble was, there had been no spare moments. Today's festivities had been the first time all week where he had been able to sneak away from his ancestor, only to find himself walled in on every side with revelry and anarchy of a most distracting nature. 

His eyes were heavy, he only got a few hours of sleep every day, the rest of it he spent sitting up in the slime, talking to the walls, listening to the voices in his think pan for any trace of genius. He wasn't allowed a husktop, he didn't know anything about what was going on in the rest of Alternian Space. As far as he knew his whole universe began and ended with this ship, with Amalthea and the thousands of clowns who either loathed or ignored him. There was no help to be found from anyone here, he was completely on his own.

He resisted the urge to shrug the giant hand off of him, instead he pulled at the itching collar of his colourful festival garb and tried to look alert, or at least conscious.

“You need me for something, Sir?” He asked, his voice somewhat masked by surrounding screams of death and the resulting laughter.

His grin only broadened and he gave Gamzee’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing. He actually put his ceremonial garb on correctly, all by his motherfucking self. Almost like a functioning troll.

“I noticed you have been doing well in your training, lately. I decided to get you a gift.” His eyes shined cruelly.

Gamzee felt something rise in his throat at the word, “gift”. He swallowed it down and shook his head.

“If it's all the same to you, I'm good. I'm all motherfuckin' contented as shit with the shit I got, Sir.” The words felt dumb and thick with fakery coming out of him, but he didn't want anything the Grand Highblood had to offer him, that was a motherfucking certainty.

“NONSENSE. I picked them out just for you.“ The hand returned, a hard clamp on Gamzee’s shoulder which he used to steer him towards the doorway.

“Don’t be so ungrateful. I’m not so generous everyday.” he grinned, moving towards the door, his claws digging in as a warning.

Gamzee let himself be pushed, while the word “them” seemed to follow him like a smoke trail. What was it this time then? Another test of his murderchops? Another chance to see if he could cull like a proper wicked little clown, smite the dull and unrighteous with holy fury? Hadn't he proved himself enough?

Gamzee didn't think he'd ever forget his first kill. A redblood, pale and begging at his feet. He'd been in detox then. It had been his first full week off sopor, not even a drop for sleeping in, and the clubs had been wet with her shade before he realized he was even holding them. He had laughed then, and later, when he was alone, wrung his bones and wept until he laughed some more, until his face was blotched dark like a crushed berry.

Since then there had been so much death, every day another stain on a club, bright as the first. Sometimes he even looked forward to it. He'd never told Tavros about that...

He stayed quiet as he walked, held tight by Amalthea's side, down long, dark hallways.

He led him down the twists and turns of his ship. There were few trolls in the halls, the majority either at the church celebrating, or hiding in their blocks or workplaces like smart little motherfuckers not wanting to get down with the harsh merriment. Those they did pass bowed their head, and moved along quickly. 

He took them deep, towards the back of the ship, where the cargo bay was held. His strides were urgent, but Gamzee had no trouble keeping up with him, for once.

He stopped at a door, the last one in a dead end hall. It was large and unmarked, metal gleaming in the fluorescent lights.

“Here we are.” He smiled, letting go of Gamzee’s shoulder to slip out a key card from his robes. The doors opened with little more than a hiss. 

Inside sat ten trolls who blinked at the sudden bright light, raising their chained hands to block it out. The chains connecting their hands to their collars clinking loudly.

They were all brown blooded, within a shade of his Fly's colour and with a similar build to the younger Taurus. Their horns were all similar as well, though never quite the right shape, or size, or location. They were the best matches he could find in the newest batch of lowbloods from the Rainbow Fields. They should have been culled, or conscripted as canon fodder, instead they would serve a different purpose.

If you squinted, every one of them could be mistaken for Tavros, though in the Grand Highblood's eyes, they still had something lacking. 

“Stand.”

The trolls struggled to their feet, wobbly from the shackles they were wearing and exhaustion. The ones whose eyes adjusted quickly warily regarded them, two were visibly shaking. The air reeked of fear. He moved out of the way of Gamzee, smiling down at him as he gestured him inside.

Gamzee held his breath as he followed the Highblood inside. When the door opened he felt a wave of genuine terror that could only mean lowbloods, lots of them. The door shut behind him and a sickly light switched on above. It was still dark, but it was enough to see them. The brownbloods.

The Highblood urged him forward but he couldn't move. His eyes darted from brownblood to brownblood, looking for Tavros, but thankfully, he wasn't among the doppelgangers. Apparently he wasn't a part of whatever Amalthea had planned. Once Gamzee realized this, he couldn't help but start noticing the differences in the trolls, the little things which made them different from his Tavros. This one's hair was too short, this one's nose too thin... but the most noticeable difference in all of them was that they were fresh meat, unscarred and young, looking for all the world like Tavros had, before...

The sound of satisfied laughter shocked him from his stare and he glanced up sideways at his Ancestor. Was he going to make Gamzee slaughter these trolls? Molest them? Torture them? The Highblood wasn't above anything, not if he thought it would prove a point.

“Sir?” He asked with more chill than he felt. “What the fuck is this noise?”

He grinned down at his descendant. 

“Why, a gift, for you.” He moved closer to the brownbloods, circled them. 

“I was your age, when I caught my first slave. A rust-blooded thing with curling horns and a spitfire temper. She was remarkably useful, while she lasted.” She had fought like a demon possessed, and had been so satisfying to break. 

His hands drifted to one of the slaves' heads, playing with it's long hair, letting it fall through his claws. 

“I would let you go catch your own, but I didn’t think you’d be able. So, I caught some for you. Seeing that you have a fondness for my 'Tavros', I went ahead and found some that look like him. It wasn’t even hard, Alternia is crawling with common filth.”

He let his claws trail on its cheek, delighting in its shivers. It didn’t dare move a muscle, but its wide eyes were staring at his hand. He didn’t leave a mark as he retracted his claw. Laughing, he moved behind them, spreading out his arms.

The trolls between them didn’t know who to face and shifted nervously, eyes flitting to both of them. They were all shaking now.

“All you need to do, is pick one.”

Gamzee swallowed tightly.

“Pick one?”

He didn't want a slave, felt sick at the thought. Felt more sick at that then at the thought of killing, at least death was fast. Life was worse, life meant hurt and more hurt until the hurt was all you were, Gamzee didn't have any illusions about that. 

“What happens to the ones what don't get picked?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

He looked down at them and smiled, eyes half shut, leering. 

“I’ll find a use for them.” 

He let his claws run along another one’s shoulders, who flinched at the sudden contact but didn‘t dare move away. Another squeaked in fear. Some turned their eyes to Gamzee, perhaps trying to decide which fate would be worse.

“The time-piece is ticking away my descendant.”

Now it seemed Gamzee couldn't look at a face without seeing the similarities to his best friend. This one had Tavros's crooked fangs, another his doleful eyes, one stood like maybe there was something wrong with his legs. Everywhere he looked there Tavros was. Or at least, a troll just like him. No...no, not just like him, but, still...

His head pounded behind his bloodshot eyes. He tried to make eye contact but nobody was looking at him, if they did it was fleetingly at his symbol, his horns, his garish, noble garb. For all they knew he was just another Indigo. For all Gamzee knew maybe one of them liked fairy tales, or played card games. 

Maybe one of them had a stutter.

“Can I talk at them, some? Get a feel for a motherfucker?” He asked with forced confidence. He'd play the dominant highblood, if that's what Amalthea wanted. But Messiahs, he was in over his motherfucking head with this shit.

The Grand Highblood regarded his descendent over the other’s heads, waiting long enough for Gamzee to shift on his feet.

“Fine.” His grin was back and he backed up slowly until he leaned against the wall behind him.

One of the trolls, the one who was puffing out his chest, kept looking towards the door, then back to Gamzee, as if trying to weigh his options. Gamzee approached him first, slow. His eyes were still on Amalthea, who wasn't leaving. Gamzee took a breath, he had to be careful, if he showed even the slightest bit of pity to anybody he'd miss his chance to...his chance to what? To save someone worth saving for once, maybe? He didn't know, but he couldn't just pick. Not like that.

The troll with the puffed out chest looked bigger than Tavros. But his jaw was square like Tav's and his hair looked soft...

Gamzee was at a loss...what should he do now? What could he ask without raising warning signs? He'd have to play a game, The Highblood loved games. Fucker liked to play with his food.

“Answer me this, brown brother...” He began, tilting his head and lowering his voice. “If you could have any mutation ability, what would you up and choose?”

The brownblood started, the question had caught him off guard. His eyes snapped up at Gamzee and his brows furrowed. 

“…Blood shifting.” He seemed to brace himself for a hit, but when it didn't come, tried to stand up straighter. From the wall the Grand Highblood gave a bark of laughter.

Gamzee held eye contact with the brown blood for a moment, then looked away. 

“Yeah.” He muttered. “Good one...” It wasn't the answer he'd wanted.

He moved on to the next brown-blood, smaller and slighter than the last.

“How about you, motherfucker?”

The slight troll locked his lips, eyes shifting from the one that had obviously failed the question. He didn’t look Gamzee in the eyes, but settled on his chest. He licked his lips. 

“...Invisibility.” His voice cracked and Gamzee almost swore, he sounded so small. 

But it still wasn't the answer he wanted.

He moved on, dread threatening to drown out his hope. 

“You?” He asked the next troll. This one had a sneer on his face. His wrists were a bit more raw around them from his struggling with his cuffs. His thumb lay oddly. 

”None of your business.” His voice was scratchy and he bared his uneven fangs.

Behind, there was a dark chuckle and Amalthea shot a challenging look over the brown blood’s head. Its message was clear. You aren’t’t going to motherfucking take that, are you?

Gamzee was losing this game. He wasn't going to find Tavros here, because Tavros wasn't here, he was already enslaved, already in a cold cell. Already broken and bitter in ways this troll wasn't, would never be, if he had any motherfucking luck at all. 

LIARS, ALL OF THEM

wearing faces they ain't got no right to

WEARING FACES THEY AINT GOT THE RIGHT TO MOTHERFUCKING BEAR

The voices came on unbidden and he shook his head to be rid of them.

“Today's your lucky day, brother.” Gamzee said softly. Calling up his clubs, in the time it took for eyes to flash yellow and his sigh to break, he had saved one troll. Two hard hits to the skull was all it took. Blood warmed his hands as the body of the snide troll fell to the ground. He pointed his club at the next troll without even looking up.

“You, motherfucker. Same question.” He growled, voodoo's riling. 

“I don't know! I don't know! Speed?!” The troll held his hands in front of his face but it wasn't enough to protect him.

Bam, one hit and more blood. It was purifying him. Gamzee let his fangs drag over his wrists, tasting it, before pointing to the next troll.

“YOU. SAME QUESTION.”

“Strength! Please! Don't kill me-!”

BAM. The blood splattered his face this time, he felt it on his eyelashes. 

“SAME. MOTHERFUCKING. QUESTION.” He pressed his club up against the neck of the seventh troll, smelling his fear, preparing to feel it hold and release like the others', when-

“F-f-flight.”

There was a silence that pressed in on Gamzee like a vacuum, the voices shrivelled into nothing. His headache flared once and was gone.

He slowly backed off, looking the troll over.

He looked perhaps the least like Tavros of all of them. His large horns were curved forward, not angled upward. He was shorter, and narrower in build, his hair was a curly mop...

But his eyes had a ring of orange that was almost the exact shade of Tavros's, his nose was broad like Tavros's, and his voice...

“What did you just say?”

“F-flight?” The troll whispered, trying to swallow behind the club with brown tears in its eyes.

Gamzee watched the troll for a long moment while his blood pusher slowed to a steady beat. Then, dazedly as if in a daymare, he looked up at Amalthea. Who grinned back at him, satisfied.

“I want him.” 

“Then he is yours.”

Amalthea pushed himself from the wall, circling around again. The brownbloods who were left were shaking, bearing their teeth in fear and shying away from him, as much as they could manage with the weight of their dead comrades dragging down their chains. He came to a stop next to Gamzee, looking over the one he had picked.

It's symbol had been a thing made of loops with no straight lines or edges. It had cried when he first grabbed it, wading through the flocks of brown bloods on Alternia.

“You should name him.”

Gamzee stared down at the troll before him, wide eyed and shivering. He lowered his club, reached out a claw and scraped a bit of foreign blood splatter from the troll’s ear. 

“He’s already got a name.” He muttered. “What's your name, brother?”

The troll flinched when his ear was touched. He looked from Gamzee to the Grand Highblood, who stared hard, grin promising pain. He shook his head, biting his lip and not daring to make a sound.

Gamzee looked over his shoulder at Amalthea, who wasn't going to let him have his way apparently, even this once. He frowned just enough to show fang, in response to the Highblood's grin.

“What the fuck should I name him then, if you're so motherfucking insistent on bein' all creative and shit?”

He gave a snort. “Names are personal, runt. He’s not mine to name. He‘s yours. Name it a favourite food of yours if you want a motherfucking suggestion.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I ain't gonna eat him.” Gamzee almost rolled his eyes except they hurt too much and he was on thin ice already. The Highblood let him get away with more backtalk, far more, than he would tolerate from any other troll (save maybe his foul-ass, queen bee bitch of a moirail) but he had his limits, like anyone else.

“I got an idea anyway now...” He muttered, turning back to the as-of-yet unnamed slave. There was something in his face, in the blood that dripped, and the eyes than shone fire-bright. Reminded him of something maybe he dreamed once, or hallucinated.

“Cal.” 

The slave, Cal, looked down and closed his eyes, eyebrows tightening at the name.

Amalthea reached forwards and grasped him by the chin, turning his head this way and that. 

“Suits him.”

He pulled a key from his jacket and unlocked Cal’s neck and wrist cuffs, then shoved him towards Gamzee. 

“Here. Take it with you. You can either keep it in your own room, or use one of my spares.”

He turned to the rest of the trolls who had moved back as far as their chains would allow.

“And Gamzee, I WILL be checking on him. Consider Cal to be a test. Maybe, if I think you are a good owner, you might get my Fly’s descendant after I tire of him. Now get lost.”

Gamzee took one last look at his ancestor heading towards the remaining brownbloods like a wolf circling a flock of bleatbeasts, and decided he didn't want to stick around.

“Come on, brother.” He muttered softly and turned to leave, not bothering to check if Cal was following him

Cal froze for a second, looking back at the others he had been imprisoned with for the last week, the two bodies left where they fell. The Grand Highblood barely bothered stepping over him. The Highblood growled, and Cal ran, doing his best not to trip over the chains linking his ankles as he followed.

The doors shut behind them, abruptly cutting off the sound. Cal swallowed, cheeks stained, and eyes darting as he tried to desperately remember landmarks for later.

Gamzee was lost in thought, or more like, lost in the black hole where his thoughts should have been. He was so damn tired. The cull had left him drained down deep where the nothingness hid, under layers of rock-like rage and guilt and darkness. 

He retraced his steps mechanically, passing by the doors to the Grand Hall where the festival was still under way. He didn't look back at Cal until he reached the elevator pod.

“Get in.” He stood aside and let Cal enter before him, then pressed the button for The Highblood's personal deck. The floor where he, Tavros and both of their ancestors resided. He didn't say a word and the ride was tense and silent.

Once they reached Gamzee's block Cal seemed to be antsier than ever. Gamzee watched him as he looked around at the paint splattered floor, walls and ceiling. The room was kept dark and cold, and Gamzee realized for the first time that the shivering the lowblood exhibited might not have been entirely out of fear.

“S.S. Big Top.” Gamzee spoke out loud. “Lower temperature to greenblood.” There was the 'ding' that signalled the ship's AI had registered him and already he could feel the room getting warmer. Too warm for him, just scratching on the edge of uncomfortable, but less likely to give his new blockmate hypothermia.

He eyed Cal for a second, before gesturing to his chair and desk, his shelves full of training manuals, and his recourpracoon.

“So... this is it. My block.” 

Cal’s eyes darted around the room that he would be sharing with, this Gamzee. He was so lost in his examination, that the other finally speaking caused him to jump, chains clinking. His gaze darted to the other’s face before snapping down. He didn’t say anything, unsure if Gamzee even wanted a response. The Grand Highblood had always asked things, or said things, without really wanting a response. Those who did usually ended up under his focus.

His legs shook underneath him as he stood on his numb feet. He was grateful that the highblood had changed the temperature. Maybe he would start to feel his feet again soon. A loud gurgle echoed in the quiet room. He didn’t know when the last time he had even eaten.

Gamzee sat at his desk and pointed to an empty chair.

“Take a load off, brother. You hungering for anything? I could call up some grub.” He asked, feeling himself dozing slightly. It was good to sit down again, every day on this ship made him feel like he'd aged a sweep.

Cal shifted on his feet, moving back so his back was towards the wall. His eyes snapped down and he shook his head. The last troll that said yes ended up being the meal for the rest. He didn’t want to know what this new highblood would do.

Gamzee watched the troll for a second then leaned forward, lowering his voice some.

“I know you can use that speechbox of yours, motherfucker. Look, I know what I did down there...it was fucked, all up and six ways from sundown, but you ain't gotta be scared of me now. I ain't him.” 

A voice in Gamzee's head objected. You look like him, you CULL like him, what more is there? He pushed it down. 

“I don't look it, but I'm as much a slave as you are.” He ended, bitterly.

Cal froze, his heart beating with fear as the other trolls voice lowered, hitting the same sounds as the bigger one had. He didn’t hear the words he was saying, only focusing on the low, gravely voice that sounded just like the others’.

It sent a chill down his spine and he pressed himself closer to the wall, unable to help the whining noise he made. A warbling sound that begged please, don’t hurt me.

Gamzee watched Cal sink further into the wall, staring at him like he expected to be slaughtered any second. It was a fair assumption, Gamzee acquiesced, but he was bone tired and the rage that always bubbled over into violence in the Highblood's presence, had dissipated into a lonely, vacant guilt.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and focused all his energy into calming himself, until he could taste Cal's fear as clear as if it were his own. He breathed in, trying to siphon it away, suck it out of the air and into some dark recess within himself. Dispelling fear was a lot harder than dispensing it, it was something Gamzee had figured out how to do by himself over a sweep of trial and error, maybe the Highblood knew how to do it too, but he sure as fuck hadn't shared any of that know-how with him.

“You gonna be alright, brother. We all friendly here, get it?”

Cal’s fear felt like it was leaking from him. Like there was a faucet attached to his head and someone had just turned the knob. He tried to get scared of it leaving, of his heart beat slowly decreasing, of his body relaxing. It just wouldn’t come, dribbling out with the rest. There was just, an absence, he felt hollow.

He looked up, towards the other without the fear of being struck, looked into his eyes. There was a shine to them, he was using some kind of power. It was taking his fear away, all the things that bothered him. It was like magic.

“…Okay.”

“Okay.” Gamzee relaxed back into his chair again. “You want something to eat, man? I bet that sack of shit ain't gave you a taste in your trap in days, am I right?” he asked.

Cal watched the highblood relax, his body loose, but not in a fight way. Without the fear though, another emotion was digging up through his exhausted mind.

He looked up at the Highblood sitting in the chair, relaxed, and still bloodspattered. It was Henvil’s blood on his face. They had been next to each other for all those days they had been kept in the room and crates before. They had kept up conversations, half-assed pale flirtations that meant nothing.

“...I don’t see why you would care. Why are you even asking. I don‘t understand...” 

Creave’s blood was there too, on his hands. Even if he had done nothing but yell at everything, he had been a part of their group, still had directed some of the big Highblood‘s attention away from Thyane, who only cried all the time. He was dead, just like the others who had been there from the start, when their number had been fifty. Though every day The Highblood would return to thin their ranks. 

Gamzee shrugged.

“I'm not heartless, I'm just a motherfucker who was in the wrong motherfucking place at the wrong motherfucking time. Like you and...” Gamzee trailed off, thinking of the trolls he'd left alone with the Highblood, and of Tavros. Tried to put them out of his mind. “...and the others. I ain't about to starve a brother.“ 

No, not starve, just bowl you down, laugh at the warmth of your filth on my skin, the voice whispered. 

“So, you hungry or what?”

Cal shifted, gaze flickering around the room to look at something else, anything but the person who was making him feel hollow.

“Yes. food would be good. But not big. Nothing big. I haven‘t eaten…. I haven’t eaten… I don’t know. Maybe three night cycles ago. He fed us. He fed us one of the others. I don’t know who.”

He shifted on his feet. The body had been partway rotting when they had become too hungry to ignore it. He could still taste it, disgusting and squishy. It had reeked to high heaven.

“Damn son, 'shit's vile.” Gamzee yawned. He stood up slowly and pushed a buzzer on his desk. “Yo, send up a some Grubloaf, well done, the good shit.” He waited for the Gastroblock supervisor to warble some static-y assent then let go of the button and made his way to where Cal stood.

“I'm Gamzee Makara.” He held out his bloody hand to shake. “You want to let me know where your real motherfuckin' name's at? Maybe we can get all acquainted and skip the part where you hate my guts?” 

He looked at the hand for a moment. It was gross, the nails were ragged at the edges and the blood was drying. He looked back to Gamzee’s face. He didn’t touch the hand.

“No. I don’t want to. The big one. He said he would be checking on me. I don’t want him to know. I don’t...” He shook his head, the wall behind him firm. His stomach gurgled again and he winced.

“It's cool, bro, I get it. I'll, uh, just stick to Cal.” Gamzee withdrew his hand. He stood there awkwardly for a second before he yawned again and looked over his shoulder at his beckoning recoupracoon, suddenly realizing it was nearing daybreak and he didn't have anywhere for Cal to sleep.

...Oh well, what was another sleepless day?

“After you eat you can take the 'coon, aright?” As if on cue there was a rapping at the door and he swaggered over to get the food. 

Cal stayed where he was, watching as Gamzee moved toward the door, willingly turning his back on him. He didn’t seem particularly aware if his surroundings at all, showing off a ‘kill me’ sign like that. Then again, what could he honestly even do?

He hoped that whatever was at the door wasn’t the big one. Would he have even knocked? He flattened himself against the wall.

It turned out to be just food. It smelt good, even from all the way over where he stood. It made his stomach knot and his mouth fill with saliva.

“I’ll handle that.” Gamzee said to the delivery drone, and he took the tray from him before shutting the door with his foot.

The food smelled good, that was for sure. Gamzee grinned and turned, putting the tray on a nearby table and starting to separate dishes and serve out helpings enough for two. It was a feast fit for nobility, the grub loaf, sauces and various side dishes prepared so perfectly it was as if the Chef’s life depended on it, which it often did. Since Gamzee had gone off Sopor his appetite had increased steadily, and he licked his lips before looking up at Cal, who was obviously shaking from hunger and already devouring the spread with his eyes.

“Pull up a hindquarter cushion and take a load off, friend. More than enough grub to go around.” He took a seat himself and motioned to a chair opposite him.

Cal stalled a second, looking from the food back up to the troll sitting there, motioning for him to take a seat. Was this a trick? Or would he just torture him? “…Not your friend.” He muttered

He gingerly sat down at the edge of the seat. It smelt even better up close, he bit his lip as his stomach growled. There was a plate of neatly sliced pieces sitting in front of him, with sauces and utensils. He ignored them in favour of just getting the warm, freshly cooked food in his mouth as fast as he could, before the highblood decided that he didn’t want to waste such good food on him.

The tastes exploded on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted something so good. Swallowing made his stomach cramp a bit, but he didn’t care as he ripped off another piece with his claws, shoving it into his mouth.

Gamzee smiled sleepily and continued eating as he watched Cal do the same. His head hurt and there had been so much death today (HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING GATHERING AFTER ALL) but at least he’d saved somebody, maybe. A troll could hope.

He was struck again by the traits of Cal’s that were and were not like Tavros. Their blood colour was the most strikingly similar thing about them, though now that Gamzee closely observed the troll’s various scrapes and the colour of his eyes, he noticed the shade was a little brighter, and just slightly redder than Tavros’. But it was still so close… 

Now that Gamzee had heard him form longer sentences, his voice had less of the stutter he’d assumed and more a fast, frantic repitition. But it was still so easy to imagine a warm smile on his face, a familiar crinkling of the eyes and nose, a quiet, jittery laugh. Gamzee hadn’t heard Tavros laugh in sweeps. With the size of his horns, how small he looked. It was like looking down a hole into his past. 

He let his eyes wander to a leg clothed in worn, unwashed pants. One pantleg was ripped off at the knee. Maybe that’s what Tavros’s knee would’ve looked like. His eyes continued to wander, his eyebrows knitting and chest tightening as he forgot about his food, and remembered a different sort of hunger.

Cal didn’t notice at first, not until he had polished most of the grub loaf from his plate. He had just chanced looking up at the Highblood, who was very obviously staring at him.

He was staring at him the same way the big one had, like he was going to eat him up, dig his teeth and hands in until he screamed. He flinched, trying to bring his knees closer together from where they had the spread wide to help balance himself.

“…no, please…”

The whimpering snapped Gamzee out of his reverie, he met Cal’s eyes and realized with a start that he’d been staring. More than staring, wanting. Now Cal was terrified again.

He set down his fork and knife and pushed his plate away, food half uneaten.

“Sorry…You just remind me of…“ He Let his eyes drop, and stared at his own hand. So much different from the one he’d possessed when he’d boarded this ship. It was large, stained, veined. The claws long and sharp and red with keratin. He made a fist and released it.

“You don’t gotta sleep here, I was just worried that he’d come back for you, is all, but…Maybe he ain’t the only clown you should be afraid of. But I guess you already got that figured out.”

He pushed his chair away and stood up, shoulders hunched. And turned to face away from Cal.

“There’s an empty block across from mine. You can have it. The passcode‘s ‘wild style‘ but you can change it once you‘re inside so I don‘t gotta have no knowing of what it is.” He spoke low and fast. “So, yeah…that‘s where we‘re at. Do what you feel you got to, brother.”

A block to himself? What was this guy playing at? What was he even going on about? He was still hungry, but didn’t dare take anymore from the plate, even though he got a feeling that Gamzee wouldn’t care.

He looked to the door, would the big one come after him? Would he be safer here, with this new highblood that showed an interest in him, but might not act on it, and had done nothing to hurt him, yet? He sat there, trying to decide, which option was worse.

He quietly got up and inched his way cautiously to the door, looking back towards Gamzee, as if asking permission, before going to the door. It slid open underneath his hand and right across the hall, was another doorway.

He looked back to the troll in the room, who stood still, watching him. His blood pusher was pounding in his chest as the door opened to the password he put in. The room was bland, only a table and an old recoupracoon. 

He cast one last look at Gamzee as the doorway slid shut.

He waited a few moments, and when reassured that the door wasn’t going to reopen, he crumpled to the ground and cried.

Gamzee’s posture relaxed and he shut his own door as well. 

His mind replayed the scene of Cal’s terrified face when he’d thought Gamzee was about to jump him at the table, how he’d drawn back, eyes wide and legs closed tight. How he’d pleaded “no“, and Motherfuck if Gamzee hadn’t unsheathed right then and there. His nook and inner thighs were wet and hot, and he felt just about shittiest he had in a long time.

It took all of a few seconds to pull off his ceremonial drab and get inside his ‘coon. Sick of the whole damn night as he was. He didn’t touch himself, but he knew how good it’d feel to come around thick fingers slick with hot sopor, dangerous images in his head. These days, in his fantasies, it didn’t matter if it was him or Tavros or anybody else. Someone was always screaming, someone was always saying “no”.

He rolled on his side, and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around himself like a cage.


End file.
